


Paying the Piper

by thecat_13145



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Seriously this is not a nice fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6785551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecat_13145/pseuds/thecat_13145
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he was a woman, there’d be names for him. Whore. Gold Digger.<br/>Because he’s a guy, they don’t really fit and the nearest he can come  up, the one he’s heard Sousa use, Brown Noser...That doesn’t really fit either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paying the Piper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RivRe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivRe/gifts).



> This is entirely RivRe's Fault. I admit I've had this fic dancing around in my head since I saw the first episode of series 2, but it probably would have just stayed in my head if we hadn't got talking. I hope it lives up to your fic.   
> Basically this is not a nice fic, Thompson does consent, but it is extremely dubious. There is also reference to child sexual abuse. Please do not read if either of those are triggers. There are lots of nice fics on here.  
> I'm just going to go and hide.

If he was a woman, there’d be names for him. Whore. Gold Digger.

Because he’s a guy, they don’t really fit and the nearest he can come up, the one he’s heard Sousa use, Brown Noser...That doesn’t really fit either. 

Quickly, Jack Thompson got to his feet, wondering around the room to examine the artwork. There’s nothing particularly special about it. Generic, obvious patriotic, the type you could find on hotel walls that catered almost exclusively to politicians and hotshots up and down the country. He should know, he’s being in enough of them since he was 15 and Vernon Masters, Uncle Vernon as he was then, decided to take him under his wing. 

At the time, everyone had being thrilled, or in his father’s case indifferent which was as close as he’d come to positive emotion where Jack was concerned. Jack wasn’t Teddy or even Robby, his sparkling, witty older brothers. Jack, as far as good old dad was concerned, was just there, worth a ruffle of his hair when he was smaller or a fist if he was drunk. 

Mom had said all the right things, made all the right noises, but her eyes had being unfocused, like they always were. She hadn’t objected or even seemed to notice when the trips to the Capital started taking longer, even staying out overnight.

Vernon had being the first person to take an interest in him. To listen to the things that Jack was interested in. Had introduced him to J. Edgar Hoover at a Party and acted like it was no big deal.

Hoover had suggested he look at joining the bureau. Probably would have done too, at least it would have got him out of home, but the draft had come along and afterwards...Afterwards it hadn’t seemed important.

He debated fixing himself a drink for a couple of minutes, but decided that there was no point. Vernon would be along in a minute and he always pours them both one. That’s the official reason he’s here at least, never mind the scotch they both consumed at the bar.

What they’re doing, what they’re about to do, it’s illegal, career ending. So there has to be an excuse, an official reason for what Jack’s doing here in this hotel room. A drink and a confidential chat between men, the type of conversation you can't have in public. The type that might make it too late for Jack to head home, so of course he has to stay the night. Perfectly innocent, perfectly believable explanation. Nothing illegal or immoral in it. 

The door opened and Vernon walked back in. He had removed his jacket and was fiddling with his cufflinks as he walked over to the cabinet where the Tantalus was standing.

“Rose sends her love.” He said casually as he poured the scotch out. “And says to remind you that you’re coming to dinner next Sunday” He smiled, as he handed it over. “She’s got a nice girl she’s dying for you to meet.”

Jack forced himself to smile as he took the drink. He never felt comfortable talking about Aunty Rose here. Had never being able to face her the morning afterwards.

He didn’t know if she knew about this or if she brought the explanation. Didn’t know which one he hoped for if he was honest.

“I told her to leave you be.” Vernon took a seat in the leather covered sofa that Jack had abandoned. “Plenty of time for all that.”

Jack nodded sipping at his drink. He wanted to make it last. To put off the moment.

It’s stupid of course. You have to pay the piper. That’s what the others, Sousa, Carter, they don’t understand. Carter in particular. They just dive in with no thought for the consequences, for the messes their actions cause. He’s heard that SOE refused to have Carter back, suspects that’s why she’s in America still. Burned too many bridges.

Sousa’s different. He’s a good man, a good person. He’ll follow the evidence wherever it leaves, even if it leaves to Carter. But he’s no subtlety. Jack picked up that he suspected Carter before she did. He doesn’t understand that sometimes you have to let the small fish go, let the guys who hold the purse strings have a little slack to keep those purse strings open. 

Vernon’s watching him over the rim of his glass, like he realises that something’s changed.

Jack knew, which he sometimes thought was the worst thing, that he could refuse. That he could just finish his drink, say something about it being late, grab his jacket and walk out of the room. Vernon wouldn’t stop him. Probably wouldn’t even refer to it again. 

But there would be consequences. He’s not stupid enough to think that there won’t be. And truth is, he’s afraid of those consequences. Afraid of what they might mean.

“I don’t think I’m ready to start thinking about Marriage yet.” he said, drowning the drink. 

“You should do.” Vernon had relaxed, leaning back against the sofa. “Marriage is essential if a man wants a career.”

A part of Jack wanted to say that it can also distract a man from it, to point out Hoover’s success even though he's still unmarried. But he’s suddenly very tired. 

He guessed that Dotty, thinking about future, about Dooley, who looked him in the eyes first time he even hinted about his and told him to forget it. That there wasn’t an agent in the SSR who hadn’t earned their place. It would have being more believable if it wasn’t obvious that Carter had being thrust on him. 

He guessed all that had tired him out. He suddenly just wants to get it over. To pay his debts and get out of here. 

“Muckety Muck of the next big thing,” he said walking over and sitting down on the sofa close to Vernon. Too Close for politeness. Sparling himself so that he could reach out and twine his fingers into Vernon’s tie.

“Too pretty to be anything else.” Vernon stroked one finger down the line of his face, the way his words had done in the bar. He’s always called Jack Pretty. Never handsome or beautiful, always just pretty. Perhaps that’s why Jack’s never used it to describe a girl.

They don’t kiss. At least not often, not like this.

Instead, Jack leans back, unbutton his pants. Vernon leans back, sipping his drink, smiling, watching as Jack eases pants and underwear down. He’s about to start unbuttoning the shirt, when Vernon reached out a hand to stop him. 

“Leave it on,” He said almost conversationally. Jack shrugged internally. That answered one question at least. About how they were doing it. That this was just going to be a quickie here in the suite. No starting here and then moving into the bedroom. He wasn’t sure if he was sorry or not. 

Vernon held out a pot of Vaseline to him and he scooped a generous measure, rubbing it between his fingers to warm it up. He’s half hard already, his body trained like some dog, knowing what’s expected of it without really knowing why.

If he was less tired, he’d stroke the fingers around his asshole, tracing infinities and zeros before reaching inside, but he can’t summon up the energy for anything fancy. Just a few quick strokes to relax the muscles and then inside with the fingers, scissoring them, trying to get as loose as possible as quickly as possible. 

Vernon was frowning and he forced himself to slow down, to take his time.

He’s never cried during this, not even the first time, when it felt like he was going to be torn in two by the other man and for days afterwards there was blood when he went to the bathroom. Just bit down hard on his lip, clenched his fist around the sheets and tried hard to force his body to relax, like Uncle Vernon told him, because Uncle Vernon wanted this and he’d being so nice to him, introduced him to Hoover and…

He’s better at it now. Others have commented on relaxed he is, how loose, how adventurous. Willing to try anything, even having some suggestions that he thinks his partner might like. Can read men as easily in the bedroom as in the interrogation room, for all Carter’s scorn for his tactics. He’d pay more attention to it if he didn’t know exactly how much bloody has stained those lily white hands. No one left SOE clean after all.

He can certainly read Vernon well enough and before the other man has even put his now empty glass down, is lying back, drawing his knees up to his chest, his eyes staring up at the ceiling.

When he was younger, he used to try and think of women during this part, to picture girls he liked. That was before he’d had sex with one, his 18th birthday when he came into the hotel room to find a girl waiting. It hadn’t worked after that. Girls were too soft, too wet for this.

These days he tries to think about guys, but he has to be careful. There was a guy in his unit, will more properly attached to his unit. Sheerman, a psychiatrist but that was where the similarities with Fennhoff ended. Nothing had happened, Jack doubted Sheerman had even noticed him, but Vernon had seen something. When they were both back Stateside, Sheerman was up for some big promotion at his hospital. At the last moment it fell though, Sheerman was transferred off to some prison island near Boston. 

Nothing said, nothing even hinted at, but he knew and Vernon knew he knew, that Vernon was behind it. 

So he’s careful about guys. Sousa, he transferred out as far away as he could almost as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He doesn't think if Sousa annoyed Vernon the distance would protect him, but it makes things easier. Less chance of Vernon seeing them together and guessing Jack’s reactions towards the other man. 

He’d like to do the same with Peggy, but She’s useful in the same way that Sousa is dangerous. Let Vernon think he’s interested in her. Peggy’s still got enough powerful friends in Washington, Howard Stark being the least of them, to protect her. Plus he’s a little afraid of what Peggy would get up to without supervision. 

Vernon pushes in and he breathes steadily to help with it. Still too tense, but there’s nothing he can do about that. 

Shouldn’t have thought about that dame. Didn’t even know her name, hadn’t understood what was going on, even when she led him through into the bedroom and Vernon was waiting. Had only really got the idea when she pushed him back on to the bed and dropped to her knees. It had taken her a long time to get him hard. Or maybe it just felt like that. All he can really remember of that part is looking across the bed, over her blonde curls to see Vernon sitting in a chair opposite, scotch in hand watching them. Later on, when she was on top of him, Vernon had come up from behind, catching one of her breasts in his hand and reaching it down to towards Jack, to offer him a taste. Later still, when it was over and the girl gone, he ran his fingers through Jack’s hair, while he was on his knees saying thank you. 

“There’s no man so bent he can’t get it up for a woman when it’s required.” He said, just before he came. Drawing Jack up, his mouth still full of the other man’s come, Vernon smiled at him. “Think we can assure your father that you’re not a sissy.” Jack had swallowed to stop himself from vomiting.

He tried to force his mind away from that. To think of other things. Sousa giving as good as he got with that gorgeous mouth. Stark’s hands ruffling through files and his knowing eyes. The feel of Sousa’s hands around his throat and his weight pushing into him. Asphyxiation had never being his thing, but while the bruises around his throat were still fresh, they’d given him more than one pleasant fantasy. 

That was all it was though. Shuttlebug from LA said that Sousa had a girl out there and even if he hadn’t, you could see how red he was after surprising Carter in her slip. 

So it’s pointless, but what the hell? It isn’t hurting anyone, not even Vernon.

Vernon grunts above him and he squeezes down, trying to help this thing along. It’s not physically unpleasant. In fact, it’s pretty good, but he’s just tired alright?

Just wants to get this over so he can sleep. He wondered briefly if this was how it was for dames, especially the married ones. Doing it because someone else wanted to, and because you were grateful to them.

It’s not a good thought, because he knows Vernon has a wife. Has known Rose almost as long as he’s know Vernon. Sort of likes her. She certainly did more of the Mom stuff than his mother ever managed. But he’s still here and for what? To protect the SSR, an organisation which Vernon has already hinted is on the way out? To protect himself?

Vernon comes with a grunt before he can finish that thought. It’s a pointless one anyway.

You have to pay the piper. That’s the way the world works.

Vernon rolled off him and stared at him, waiting. The words stick in his throat, especially as it’s becoming increasingly clear he’s going to have to take care of things himself, but it’s part of the payment.

“Thank you.” He said softly, relieved he no longer felt obliged to add “Uncle Vernon.” Had dropped that as soon as he got back from the War and Vernon’s never called him on it.

Vernon smiled, one hand reaching lazily out to pat at him, like you do with a dog. “Now there’s a good boy.” He got to his feet, sparing a glance at Jack.

“You’d best get some rest. Got an early start in the morning. Your girl’s creating trouble in LA. Needs a firm hand to solve it.” He smiled patting at Jack again. “Know you can handle it.”

Jack just wished he shared that particular faith.


End file.
